outsourcing

I've had some credit card issues. Last week, I called my credit card company because I had received a suspicious phone call regarding the status of my card. Long story short, I had to close the card and get another one. Sounds like it should be easy, right? Only if you have the patience of Job.

When I called the company last week, I had only one question: Did you just call me to say that my card has been compromised? Because if you did not, someone else has all my CC info, and I'll need to cancel the card. A simple, 'no we did not call you,' and 'ok, we will give you a new number' would have sufficed. Instead, the story had to be repeated several times, to several different people. Most of whom did not speak English. What also didn't help was the immense amount of static over the line that made me feel like I was calling Turkey, though I dismissed this and remained calm, figuring because I was calling at night and using my cell phone. Yesterday I got the card in the mail, and had to go through the rigmarole of 'card activation' in which the company tries to coerce the customer into 'card benefits' that only cost 'twenty dollars monthly.' This monologue is all rattled off by again, someone who doesn't really speak English, with static on the line, though I was calling from a landline phone. NO. I just want to be able to use my credit card. Stop offering me things.

What this comes down to, though, is the problem of outsourcing. My credit card company is an American company. Don't get me wrong: I like my CC company; they've been good to me over the years. And I don't really mind people who don't speak English; I'm not ignorant enough to think that not speaking English is a retardation like many Americans (who, mind you, don't speak even a word of a different language). My point here is that Americans, like me, bellyache over having to talk out banking issues with an accented language barrier that makes everything twice as difficult as it should be. Which begs the question: why are Americans too proud to work as operators for banks? We complain, and yet would not, even as a last option, consider working as a telephone operator. So companies outsource. And then, we complain more because there are no jobs.

A vicious cycle, or American greed, or both? You decide.

SJT's hey! it's ok!

My cousin got married this weekend. A truly beautiful, emotional ceremony, followed by a gorgeous reception at the Biltmore Hotel in Providence. I've spent a relaxing weekend at the family homestead, complete with naps in my twin sized bed and having to walk the dog who only wants to poop when there's a car coming. I wanted to do a little recap of what I've been up to, and I thought that it would be appropriate to mimic Glamour magazine's "Hey, it's ok!" articles.

so: hey, it's ok to:
-not shower for three or four days
-wear your brother's clothing because it's comfortable
-wear your running spandex when you have no intention of going running
-watch 'say yes to the dress' obsessively, then watch 'house hunters', all while researching wedding venues and your area's real estate listings, even if you are not remotely in a relationship
-be a little freaked out when the family from California on 'house hunters international' wants to move to Egypt
-not shave your legs
-quit going to the gym during finals week(s), even if you're not really studying
-take a little break from blogging
-really, shamelessly love some mommy blogs, even if you're years away from being a mother
-surf the craigslist personals for laughs
-get super discouraged over trying to bake cookies only to have them come out flat and hard as rocks (and subsequently worry over whether or not you'll be the domestic goddess your mother is and sister, though four years younger, surely will be)
-want to see 'prince of persia' only for jake gyllenhaal's rocking bod
-wonder how on God's green earth the SATC girls can still be at it...aren't they like 50?
-get mad at your dog when he eats that hundreth pair of your underwear (gross)

on being poor

Well that was quite the hiatus. I apologize. Academia, for perhaps the last time in my life, has been making my life nearly unlivable. But, on the same token, it is all so bittersweet. The "real world" will be more difficult than college--right? Alas, this weekend marked the last spring weekend at school ever. Tear. Today my whole body hurts. I magically came down with a cold overnight...though it is quite possible it is simply allergies. I'm going to hope for the allergies, because if I'm actually sick that will be so not fun.

What's on my mind today? Being poor. I am broke. Broke as a joke. Over Easter I looked at my checking account and actually burst out laughing because I had $43. Yup. I thought I was ok and requested a check from my savings until the other day I realized that check also dwindled and I don't have much left in my savings. On Wednesday there was a reception held in the ballroom for graduating seniors and alums. Appetizers, open bar. My friends and I were so there! Upon trying to get ready I realized that I did not a. have appropriate dress pants, or b. have shoes besides my sperrys and my junky Caro St. heels I bought at Payless specifically to wear to off-campus parties (No, Caro St. is not a brand. It's the colloquial name for the off-campus neighborhood surrounding HC). Also, most of the jewelry I own is from Target because I tend to lose nice jewelry...my parents learned early on. THIS IS WHY WE CAN'T HAVE NICE THINGS.

Walking up to the networking event, I cringed with every step I took because the metal posts of my high heels are poking out of the bottom, making a lovely squeaky, metal-on-pavement sound. I reflected upon my wardrobe and realized the full extent of my poverty. My jeans have holes in the crotch (which I have patched, I'm not trying to look homeless), the treads of all of my footwear (sperrys, sandals, you name it) are worn smooth, all of my unmentionables are actually falling apart, and I save all of my laundry to do at home because I don't want to spend the money to wash it at school.

And yet, I have no trouble going to the liquor store. Time to reevaluate.

things that are bugging me this week

1. people that talk and talk and talk in class and never make a point. and say 'um' a lot.

2. couples holding hands ALL OVER CAMPUS. and sharing kisses. and sitting together in the library. boo.

3. research papers.

4. hangovers.

5. research papers.

6. people that shower more than once a day.

7. dave matthews

Procrastination...

...is the name of the game, and, if this were an Olympic sport, I would be the gold medalist. This semester, for some reason, I feel like I have a free pass on, well, everything. I will put off everything and anything until the very last second. It's like I don't actually have anything pressing going on when, in all actuality, I do. You name it, I've put it off. Homework, studying, laundry, running, even blogging. "Good God, woman," I say to myself every time I'm awake at all hours writing a paper (when I clearly could have been doing it earlier, but instead watched too many episodes of Sex and the City), "what are you doing with your LIFE???"

Just last week, I had a 5 page paper due on Friday morning. FML, my favorite night of the week is Thursday. In any event, I resolved to stay in, until some friends asked me to go to the movies. HOW could I turn down a perfectly good chick flick and popcorn? Read: usually I would. But nOoOoOo. I had a paper to write, and therefore I needed to distract myself. So I went to the movies, and didn't start my paper until around 10. Not so bad, 5 pages would take any normal person about three hours, plus half an hour to 45 minutes to revise in the morning.

BUT. I am me. And I distracted myself between paragraphs with facebook, blogs (damn you, blog world), email, youtube and craigslist (check out the personals and missed connections in your city, funny funny shit), which took me right to the witching hour, 3 AM. When I couldn't possibly keep my eyes open any longer, I slept for about four hours, upon which time I had to arise in order to finish my paper. I mean, I got the thing done, and it was pretty damn good, but still...couldn't I have achieved the very same thing earlier and gotten a decent night's sleep?

Do I just not care anymore? Right now, I've had all day to study for a test I have tomorrow. But instead I did laundry, watched the Olympics, spent an hour trying to write about my crazy landlord from summer '08 (still to come...will be my greatest masterpiece...mwahaha), ate some mac and cheese. I didn't do anything productive all day. Couldn't even drag my chunky keister to the treadmill. Why. Why. Why. Why.

I just hope some people out there are as unproductive as I am. Is it a generational thing? Are we all just craving that adrenaline rush? That moment of panic when you look at the clock and it's an hour before class starts, you're in your ratty Hanes t-shirt (no bra), haven't showered in a couple days (for no reason other than that YOU'RE LAZY), and think, "Eff eff eff, am I EVEN going to pull this off?" I think we have just invented too many things that distract us. Like facebook. And youtube. And blogs.

And now that I've wasted another 20 minutes of my life...my textbook is calling me.

side note: CANNOT stop listening to "Karma Police" by Radiohead. This week has breathed new life into that song for me. Listen. Be swept away.

Going to the Gym

I hate going to the gym. Because we live in a society that is obsessed with body image, girls and guys alike my age flock to the gym five, six and (some people) seven times a week. The worst part is people updating their facebook statuses "class gym shower dinner" etc etc. So pathetic.



Where I live on campus I must first scale a mountain to even get to where the gym is, and then there's a line for a treadmill because God forbid any of us run outside in the cold New England temperatures. Girls usually occupy the treadmills for thirty or forty minutes at a time, doing their best to look like obsessed anorexics. However, if you're like me, you sweat it out for (on a good day) twenty minutes going 5 and a half miles an hour while everyone around you sprints for four miles. Talk about feeling like a failure.

The guys, on the other hand, are big fans of the bike and the free weights. A guy friend of mine thinks it is useless to go to the gym unless you bike for at least an hour. When he gets on the bike he'll ride maybe 50 miles. Huh? And the guys with the free weights is hysterical. The moan and grunt and flex at themselves in the mirror, its completely showing off. Guys are obsessed with bulking up, they drink protein and take supplements, and for what? To impress the wannabe anorexics? What a great culture we have.

And with that, I must be going to the gym. My beer gut is getting a little out of control.

Hot Mess

This is usually how a typical Thursday, Friday or Saturday night might go for me. I figure I only have one semester of college left, only so much more time to be this pathetic. Plans also vary depending on the day of the week (Thursday is usually a bar night, Friday a bit more low key, Saturday almost a guaranteed blackout), but I'll do my best to consolidate the general happenings.

4 PM: a trip to the liquor store, sometimes target, usually with pal MPF. Most of the time we are too hungover to accomplish anything, but rather wander around Target confused, wondering why we allowed ourselves to drink so much the night before. Upon arrival at the liquor store, we are also too hungover to even look at something like vodka without wanting to die. Beer and Wine it is.

6 PM: Dinner.

7-8 PM: Showers and pre-gaming. Usually a few beers or perhaps a bottle of wine, depending on how drunk I want to be.

9 PM: impromptu Flip-cup tournament either downstairs from us or in the apartments across campus. my teeth are usually purple from the wine, my makeup has started to run, and my armpits have started to sweat. Not drunk enough yet.

10-11 PM: Someone rouses everyone to go off campus. I stuff my coat pockets with emergency beers; you never know where there might not be a keg, like on the street, walking to your destination.

12 AM: more flip cup, usually led by a certain friend of mine who has an affinity for flannel, LL Bean duck boots, and La Roux (a really cool British new-age techno group). People start doing keg stands. I do one despite wearing a dress. Also, well on my way to blacking out. Some guy attempts to breakdance but instead belly flops on the cement floor.

1 AM and beyond: Pretty friends are let into a party. They beg to let me come in too. Once inside, pretty friends get hit on. I contemplate leaving, but drink more keg beer instead. Everyone is too drunk to play more games, so afore mentioned flannel friend starts a dance party of epic proportions.

From here, the night can end two ways. I either sober up enough to return to my room and order Dom's with the Sweet Sea (preferably onion pizza and cinnastix), gorge myself and go to bed drunk and hiccuping with heartburn, or I can wake up in the morning, somehow mercifully in my own bed (albeit in my clothes from the night before), without recollection of how I got there.

Good thing there's only 4 months of this left. Perhaps someday I'll grow up.

Holiday Blues

"I just don't understand Christmas, I guess. I like getting presents and sending Christmas cards and decorating trees and all that, but I'm still not happy. I always end up feeling depressed."
-Charlie Brown

Every year a gloomy feeling descends on what everyone thinks should be the most wonderful time of the year. I know it isn’t just me, and I know its not seasonal-affective disorder. It’s Christmas. I know! I said it! I’m the Grinch, I’m scrooge! But, seriously, can’t we take a little lesson from the Grinch and Scrooge? Isn’t there a little of those two in all of us? Before you write me off as a psycho murderer of Christmas, just hear me out. Christmas is supposed to be a season of magic, giving, etc, etc. So why all the sadness? Common thread between sadness and Christmas? It reminds those who are a little lonely just how alone they actually are. Scrooge is alone in the world; no wife, no family, not even a girlfriend to keep the bed warm. The Grinch was ridiculed as a child and is also, alone. If you want to feel lonely, just live eternally in Christmastime. Maybe it’s something about the lights or the songs, or simply wanting to share something with someone that just isn’t there. I’m not only talking about significant others either, but even family members are missed (like how I know my mother wishes her parents were still around, and every Christmas she misses them a little more than she does the rest of the year). We all need someone that either doesn’t exist, or cannot be present. The only open and true happiness at Christmas might exist when you’re a little kid, and Santa is a fat, kind man who gives present to all children equally. Perhaps, as adults, we are all simply reaching for what we thought Christmas was in light of what we have found Christmas to be.

Alas, I cannot end on such a debbie-downer note. Linus said it the best:
"Sure, Charlie Brown, I can tell you what Christmas is all about: And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night. And lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them: and they were sore afraid. And the angel said unto them, 'Fear not: for behold, I bring unto you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the City of David a Savior, which is Christ the Lord. And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger.' And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host, praising God, and saying, 'Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men.' That’s what Christmas is all about, Charlie Brown."

To keep my Grinchy-ness out, I usually try to think about the real purpose of this holiday, to focus on the wonderful gifts God has given me, including His son.

But seriously though guys, a little depressed, right?